


What Time Is Now

by munibunny (b_cat)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Gen, Implied Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-20
Updated: 2014-01-20
Packaged: 2018-01-09 09:55:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1144602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/b_cat/pseuds/munibunny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There’s something after him and it’s relentless, so he runs... but he’s not sure what he’s running to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Time Is Now

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place after 3A. Unbeta'd. This is a work of fiction intended for Full Moon Ficlet challenge on LJ and the prompt: Resolute. The characters have been borrowed with much respect for the creative team behind Teen Wolf.

It’s there again, that smell, so cloyingly sweet it makes his eyes water and his stomach turn. He swings to the right, eyes searching the murky blackness for the source, but he’s surrounded by nothingness. Again. Stone walls covered with ivy stretch high into the sky, so high it blocks out the light of the moon as darkness closes in around him.

He runs.

Socked feet hit the ground hard, slipping and sliding across the uneven stones as he races forward, propelled by an unseen force to get away, to find safety. He banks right, only to find another tunnel stretching out in front of him. 

Somewhere in the distance he hears a howl and he know it’s the wolf… his wolf. He tries to call out, arms reaching out, but his fingers only scrabble against cold stone. He scratches at it until his fingers are bloody, pushing forward even as his feet slide out from under him. 

It’s cold, so cold, and the ground feels like ice. Over his left shoulder, he feels the rustle of movement, and it sends a fresh wave of shivers down his spine, like frosty fingertips tripping down his back in a strangely intimate dance. 

In the distance, another mournful wail calls to him. It’s the sound of shelter, of safety, of home, and he knows he has to get there somehow.

He scrambles forward into the darkness even as the tunnel stretches farther and farther forward. At the next break in the wall, he staggers right and then left again, further and further into the maze, the darkness licking at his heels. 

The scent invades his senses again. It’s close this time, sickeningly sweet and unnatural. He turns to look, but there’s still nothing there, just a feeling of wrongness, like something that shouldn’t belong. Up ahead, he ducks in through the next break in the wall, fear making his body shake and his breath come in shallow gasps.

 _No, no, not now,_ he thinks, even as he tries to tamp the panic down. 

He has to keep moving.

Up ahead, a black shape lies across his path. As he nears it, he sees black fur, matted down, its twisted misshapen form not resembling anything recognizable, and then, it hits him, the coppery smell of blood that turns putrid, like decaying, rotting flesh.

And in the distance, he hears another mournful wail. 

His wolf calling to him. 

Stiles wakes up, gasping for air and the taste of ash in his mouth, bright light of the sun piercing right through his corneas, making his head feel like it’s about to split itself wide open. 

It’s daytime. 

Not night. 

It’s not fair for dreams to chase him into the sunlight. Not fair at all.

He rubs at his temples to ease the ache even as the pain makes him want to scream. So many times, he wishes he could just purge himself of all of the disturbing blackness, vomit until his soul is empty and the curse is gone, because that’s what it feels like to him, a curse, one that he took on willingly, not fully knowing the price he had to pay. As it is, it recedes slowly, whitening out his vision even as it pushes the darkness back.

“Stiles! Stiles!” Scott nudges his arm. “we’re gonna be late for history. Get up.”

When his eyes refocus, it’s to Scott’s penetrating gaze.

He wants to say, ‘Leave me alone’ but he won’t say the words to Scott, has never been able to, even on the worst of days, and there have been many of those lately.

“What? What’d I miss,” he quips, sarcasm bleeding into his tone. It’s normal, it’s what’s expected, and at least earns him a smirk from Scott. He can still see the suspicion in his friend’s eyes, it’s not like they haven’t talked about this before, at length even, but there’s a respite for a moment. If there’s one thing he can’t stand, it’s being patronized. 

There’s an ache in his belly as he stands, a hollowness that simply won’t go away, and in the back of his mind he knows there’s something missing, something he’s just not getting. As he gathers his things, he realizes everyone else has already left the table, and Stiles feels more alone than ever. 

He’s going to solve this, he has to. Before he really does go crazy.


End file.
